


Frozen

by Palebluedot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied Johnlock, Or attempted angst at least, idk what this is really i wrote it a long time ago and now i'm trying to tag it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:37:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palebluedot/pseuds/Palebluedot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has trouble moving on. Molly tries her best to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy, I wrote this a long time ago and it's making me cringe. But it was my first published work so I'll keep it up as a piece of history.

There are two kinds of snow. The first is soft, fluffy, and creates the illusion of being gleefully trapped inside a snow globe. The other is gray, hard and steely, and has barely decided to freeze already and stop being rain.

The latter pelted John Watson in the face, each icy grain deepening the chill of the frigid November evening. But the man stood as a statue at the foot of St. Barts, never wavering in his vigil.

"Any way I can convince you to stop coming out here?" came a soft voice behind him, desperately trying to be lighthearted.  
"No. There really isn't." John sighed.  
"Right, then." Molly produced a cardboard cup of tea and extended it to John, who took it reluctantly. "Why are you here this time?"  
"I honestly couldn't tell you," he lifted his head in a mirthless laugh. "I should probably be put away for torturing myself like this, but..." he trailed off.  
"...But you can't stay away." Molly finished in a whisper.  
"Yeah. Just like I can't stay away from Baker Street, the Yard, or move on with my bloody life, for that matter."  
"It's only been a few months, John. The wound's still fresh. We're all still hurting."  
"But you're not, are you?" he burst out. "Not like me, anyway. You, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, you're all going on day to day, doing what ordinary people do. At least you're _living._ But me...I've just _stopped,_ Molly. I've stopped. I'm standing still, on this scrap of pavement, and I have the feeling I'll never really leave. I'll just stay here, for the rest of my life, going through the endless list of what-ifs in my head, finding a new way to save him every day. But because I blew it when it counted, my world will be frozen in this spot forever. And it...is...killing me.

John cursed himself as he felt his eyes get wet, and he focused intently on the sidewalk. It had since been scrubbed clean by men in neon vests and been weathered away by the passing of many days, but he could still see the blood that had flowed to mingle with the drizzling rain. How could he forget? It was there every time he closed his eyes.

Molly hesitantly put an arm around her friend's shoulder, crying with him, hating herself for being a party to his suffering. They stayed like that, grieving silently for a seemingly endless stretch of time, their cheeks and hands growing crimson and chapped as they watched the little light that had graced the sky that day fade away over the gray horizon and be reborn in the streetlights.

"Why'd he do it, Molly?" John breathed softly, not really expecting an answer.

She was silent for a moment. God, she wanted to tell him the truth, see the life spark back to his eyes as the sorrow flew away and his world came together again, but she couldn't. She knew she couldn't. So she'd have to ease his pain some other way.

"You know, I knew Sher-" 

John winced.

"...him. For a long time. Since we were kids, actually." she smiled to herself. "Blimey, he was mad. I remember-" she felt John's eyes boring into her. She cleared her throat. "But, the point is, never, in all that time, did I ever see him care for anybody or anything as much as he cared for you. So, the only...logical deduction, I suppose, would be that it was for you somehow. Don't look at me like that, it's true. You bri-" she caught herself. "...brought, something wonderful to life in him, and he knew and cherished it in his own mad way. Anyway, he was too arrogant to do what he did for himself." She laughed softly. "No, the world was too full of us idiots who needed him to solve our puzzles for us for him to leave of his own accord. So he must have done it for another reason. And the only person that he would ever do that for is you, John."

John scoffed. "No. No, he never did a thing for anyone but himself, in the end. He was Sherlock Holmes, and he did what he bloody well pleased."

Molly nodded slightly. "Yeah. He did, didn't he? But what he bloody well pleased had a definite tendency to revolve around you, you know."

They stayed the rest of the night in silence.


End file.
